


Compromise

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: Her words ricochet off the walls and straight to his eardrums and he’s not so sure whether it’s their volume or their ignorance that causes the pain.“I am sick and tired of this!”And he wants to scream out ME TOO because he’s tired of her decisions! He’s tired of how casually she takes her life, of how casually she can chase after danger, not worrying that it could cause her something more, something bigger than just a story.





	

She slams the door with vengeance on her way in and he thinks he’s really messed up this time. But he’s too angry to look at her point of view because she could’ve gotten herself seriously injured…or worse. 

He doesn’t want to think about the worse.

Or about how reckless she was or about her risking her life chasing leads that get her in dangerous situations time and time again. He doesn’t wanna think about any of that.

Luckily her voice stops him from doing so altogether and he recognizes her anger, daunting and  _loud._

“You had _no_ right.”

Her words ricochet off the walls and straight to his eardrums and he’s not so sure whether it’s their volume or their ignorance that causes the pain.

“I am sick and tired of this!” 

And he wants to scream out _ME TOO_ because he’s tired of her decisions! He’s tired of how casually she takes her life, of how casually she can chase after danger, not worrying that it could cause her something more, something bigger than just a _story_.

At how casual she is about potentially leaving him…like it doesn’t break her heart…like it’s not supposed to break his…

“BARRY!”

He hears her yell, her voice sharp yet somehow broken, and he wants to say something in return, wants to yell it at the top of his lungs that it’s not fair to him, that she can’t keep doing this to herself and expect him to be okay with it when she keeps putting herself in harm’s way for people she knows nothing about, for faceless names that won’t matter after the article gets submitted, after the editor reads it, after it’s published…

But he doesn’t say anything, his own anger getting the best of his words, not trusting his voice to stay steady, not trusting his eyes to not give him away. 

Because he’d give the world to her, he’d give up the world for her, he’d do anything to make her safe and protected and the pain of knowing she could be taken from her family, from her job… from him… 

He braces for impact instead. He listens.

* * *

“Are you _listening_ to me?”

Iris feels actual flames in the pit of her stomach.

How could he?

How _dare_ he?

How did it seem okay for him to put her in such a position? To rip her from her lead as soon as she got it? To treat her like anyone less than capable of following through! 

How did he think she’d be okay if he tracked her down, if he chased after her only to stop her from the interview all because he apparently _knew these people and they were dangerous and armed_ like she didn’t already fucking know that, like she hadn’t done her research, like she didn’t come prepared, like this wasn’t the last link to break the story, like it hadn’t been building up for the past two weeks only to come crashing the hell down with absolutely _nothing_ to show. 

How. Could. He.

“BARRY.”

She yells his name again because truthfully it’s one of the only words she could remember, her own frustration blinding any vocabulary, any writer’s touch that she so prided herself on.

Sometimes his selfishness left her at a loss of words.

Sometimes she wondered how she would ever break through to him, what more she had to say, whether she really had to prove her abilities again, as if she hadn’t done so before.

And she was just so damn mad.

Livid even.

She was pretty sure her heart rate was abnormally beating, felt it in her throat, her own hands shaking that she couldn’t even grip the phone she’d intended on using as a recorder just a few minutes ago.

It slipped out of her hand.

He caught it.

* * *

 

He gripped the phone as tightly as he could, like it was the only solace he had left. Because Iris clearly wasn’t getting any less mad…there weren’t any more words being exchanged between them…in the past five minutes they’d been home, neither had sorted anything through.

Except through her anger he could see hints of sadness. And somehow he was starting to feel guilty.

But it wasn’t his fault!

Not like he could help himself when it came to her! Like she wasn’t the most important person on the face of the entire multiverse to him and if anything happened to her, he wouldn’t want to exist, let alone live.

She was the reason for it all.

She was his anchor. His true north. His home.

She was his whole world. And yes maybe it had been an irrational decision and yes maybe he had acted on impulse rather than logic, but what was he supposed to do? Risk something happening to her? No. Never.

“Barry.” 

Her voice came again, this time calmer, quieter even, like somehow that anger was dissipating (he knew it was still there). 

He saw her shoulders give out and her chest heave.

He saw her stare down at his hand, the one still gripping onto the phone for dear life, then watched her eyes come up to meet his again.

He watched her deflate. 

_He messed up._

* * *

 

She wasn’t going to cry. 

She wasn’t going to let the tears get the best of her, because she was still furious. But she needed to talk.

Iris watched as his hand extends to give her the phone back. She takes it from him and throws it on the couch, the contents of it empty and unimportant. “Why.”

It comes out less like a question and more like a statement, and that’s not how she intends it to be but that’s how it should be because she wasn’t _asking_ right now, she was _interrogating_ , and anything less than honest wasn’t good enough for her. 

She watches him keenly, watches the way he twiddles his fingers, watches as one hand comes to the nape of his neck and linger there for a little too long. 

“You were in danger.” 

_Bullshit._

“No,” she says through clenched teeth, “I was not in danger.” She sees him take a step back, sees his shoulders slump. “You could’ve been.”

_Not good enough Barry. Not this time._

* * *

Somehow, it felt like this wasn’t going to go over well. Because all her questions sounded more like assumptions - though he knew she was right - and all his answers sounded like self defense and Iris was seeing through them all.

Her eyes were wide, her fists clenched and she wasn’t playing around, that he knew.

He hadn’t seen her this angry in a long time. Not since he told…scratch that…she figured out he was The Flash and he had to come clean about everything.

And they did this, him and Joe, they did this too many times for her liking. She didn’t appreciate it. Sometimes, she’d outright say it, yell it even that _it’s_ _not your job to protect me, I can handle myself!_ though most times, it’d be more playful than this.

One time, she made an offhand comment about how she liked having Wally around because he treated her with the respect she deserved when it came to her job.

He took offense to that. 

Wally later talked to him, told him _she has a point you know…you may love her but you don’t understand this part of her like you should._

Barry stayed up that entire night thinking about those comments. He came to the conclusion that her life was more valuable than anything else.

In this moment, Iris was letting him know that he clearly missed the point.

* * *

Iris takes a step forward to make up for the one he took back. She wasn’t letting him run away from this.

“Explain.” Iris means to say it with confidence, but it comes out as a whisper. Because truthfully, she didn’t have the energy to go through this again.

 _Dad,_ _you and Barry don’t take what I do seriously enough._ She remembers telling them that around two months back during pizza night, remembers the laughter she got from her dad and the equivocal look she got from Barry. 

Mainly she remembers how Wally hugged her from behind and nodded his head in agreement. _She’s right. Iris is the best investigative journalist in the world. Y’all don’t know what_ _you’re missing._

So she found herself confiding in him more than either her dad or her boyfriend, which seemed somehow unfitting given she’d known Wally only a fraction of the time that she’d known them. But her brother thought like her, had her back when it came to this. He had her wits and her smarts. He saw her job as _valid_ , worked stories with her when she needed his help, stayed up evenings when Barry was out putting villains and criminals away to keep her calm and focused, saw how much strength and heart and resilience it took.

One time he and Cisco called it an early day at STAR Labs to help her go undercover. None of them told Barry.

She hated that. Hated that she had to keep this from him. But when Barry found out, she saw the panic in his eyes (saw the pride too, but she was too cynical as to why there was panic mixed in with it; it made it less pure) and how he had to physically stop himself from rushing over to her in the middle of CCPN, with Wally, Cisco, Jesse and Linda all gathered around. 

It bothered her.

This was a month ago. And yet here they were.

* * *

 

“I got worried,” Barry justifies, holding his feet in place, “I didn’t know whether you got hurt.”

Iris shakes her head. “I hadn’t even went inside yet Barry. Yet here I am. In this living room. Not doing an interview. Because I’m apparently not _man_ enough to handle it.” 

“That’s no-” 

“It’s not?!” she pushes. “Are you sure? Because what would you have done had I done that to you?” 

He feels his blood boil. _That’s not fair._

“I have superspeed Iris! You don’t!” 

“You put your life in danger every damn day Barry! Every day! And I have to live with that, but you can’t handle me getting one interview which I’ve planned for and I’ve been trying to get for the past two weeks! What other explanation do you have?”

“It’s different for me! You need to understand that! It’s not the same!”

* * *

 

“The hell it isn’t Barry Allen!”

She finds herself moving towards him and before she knows it, her hands are banging on his chest.

Once.

Twice.

Three times. Before he stops her. Before he takes her fists in his hands and kisses her knuckles  _soft_ again. 

She knows he loves her. That wasn’t the point.

“No story is worth your life,” he whispers.

And she’s heard those words before from him. The first time, they were endearing, maybe because of the adrenaline or the rush of the moment.

This time they’re frustrating because he still doesn’t understand.

“It’s not just a story,” Iris hisses, meeting his eyes, “it’s a person. It’s a family. It’s a community. Lives are on the line.” She pulls her hands away from his. “It’s not _JUST_ a story.”

* * *

“I didn’t mean that,” Barry stutters, watching as she turns her back to him. 

He had better luck with words when they were _soft_ , when they weren’t both upset, when they weren’t fighting. 

They shouldn’t be fighting.

She shouldn’t be turning away from him, this shouldn’t be happening. 

He loved her, she had to know that, had to believe that that love left him lost at the seams, left him out of his mind to make sure she was always safe.

She had to know that. “Barry…”

He hears her voice come alive again, hears as its volume fulminates, as it goes back to more  _loud_ and less _calm_. He braces for impact. 

* * *

 

“You undervalue what I do! Not only do you undervalue it, you underestimate its importance!” She spins back around on her heels, locks her eyes with his, and takes a deep breath.

She doesn’t let him get the word in. Not this time.

“It’s never _just_ about the story. Stories come and go. If I just wanted to read it, I wouldn’t be so eager to write it! It’s more than _just_ a story, it’s more than _just_ what’s written on paper, it’s more than the comments and the praise and the accolades. 

It’s what’s between the lines Barry.”

She pauses, watches his jaw tense as the words reach his ear, watches how he fidgets with his fingernails. 

“Why is it that my brother, who’s known me less than two years can so easily understand this, can so easily team up with me, help me, give me his support, drop anything to read over it, offer to get me the scoop whenever he can, yet my damn boyfriend _and_ most importantly, my _best friend_ of more than 15 years can’t do the same, can’t even look me in the eye when I tell him I have a new assignment!”

“That’s not true!” Barry yells, speeding towards her to hold her hands. 

And she knows that last part isn’t entirely true, but it didn’t negate the rest of it. Because he’s selectively excited when he knows there’s no way the assignment can involve any undercover work, any criminal activity, or any interviews in sketchy areas that he didn’t approve of. 

She was tired of it.

“This is _MY_ job Barry! This is my career! Sometimes it involves a little bit of risk, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to pull me away from it! Not when I’ve studied the situation! Not when I’ve done my research! Not when I’m prepared for it! You can’t strip me of that!”

“I know Iris, I know,” he pulls her close by the arms, so much so that their bodies are almost flushed together. “Believe me I know! I wasn’t trying to do that; I just don’t want you to get hurt and you don’t know what those people are capable of!”

“It’s not your decision to make! Barry why can’t you understand that! I can handle myself, I can make these decisions on my own! I signed up for this job; I’ve excelled in this job; I’m where I’m at today because I don’t back down, because I chase the lead, because I don’t give up on the story, not in spite of it!” 

* * *

 

And truly, everything that she’s saying he understands - or at least thinks he understands…hopes he understands - and he wants so badly to wipe the tears that were escaping from her eyes, that somehow made their way onto his hands, but she backed out of his reach and she was suddenly on her way to the door and Barry couldn’t help but follow after her, because this wasn’t what they did.

Their fights didn’t get this far, except this time, clearly he pushed it. He hadn’t meant to.

He just wanted for her to be safe.

So he runs over and pulls her back and he can tell her breathing has quickened but he finds her hugging him back, really hugging him back, clasping her arms around his back, burying her head in his chest, so he embraces her all the same, wraps both arms around her waist, pulls her in close, tells her _I’m_ _sorry_ without saying a word, wants her to forgive him, _needs_ her to forgive him.

* * *

She lets herself fall into him, lets him support her, because her own two feet were giving out on her, and her anger had somehow subsided because she never meant for it to be anger, she just wanted him to understand that he couldn’t do this anymore, that he couldn’t keep treating her like someone who had to be contained, like her words had to be censored, her actions monitored, her movements tracked. 

It was her job. To protect. To report. To analyze. To shine light on.

It was her job to ensure transparency. To keep people in the loop. To keep them safe. To keep people safe.

He should know that better than everyone else. 

She does what he does; their jobs mirror each other in ways he should’ve been able to see, in ways that didn’t need explanation. 

Was love so blinding that it made him lose sight of that? Was her love any weaker because she let him do what he had to? Let him go out and save the world even though it meant the possibility of him not coming back to her?

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs into her hair, his hands rubbing along her back. He had to say it, he knew he was wrong. 

This was on him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I shouldn’t have surprised you there. I shouldn’t have brought you back against your will. I shouldn’t have interfered.”

He feels her loosen her grip on him, and he immediately misses the feeling of their bodies molded together; when she pulls away a little more, he almost regrets apologizing because it meant they were apart.

He didn’t want to let her go.

* * *

Iris stares at him with blurry vision, blinks several times in attempts to wash away the tears.

She sees his hand come up to caress her cheek, to wipe away some of the stray tears, and she leans into it. 

She puts her hand over his, turns it so that her lips kiss his palm, before setting both of them down.

Her eyes lock with his. “You should know, better than anyone else, why I do this. You should know where my heart is.”

“I know.”

“Good,” Iris lets out a breath before reaching down and taking his hand. She backs him into the armrest of the couch, bringing her body close to his, closing the distance between them. 

“I don’t wanna fight about this anymore,” she continues, “but I need you to understand that what I do isn’t yours to decide. What I do, I plan. To the last detail. Sometimes it blows up in my face. Sometimes it means I need to jump out of windows and you need to come catch me. 

Do that. Help me. Save me when I need saving. But stand by my side. Trust in me. I need you to ground me, to guide me when I’m lost, to chase a lead with me if I ask. I need you to be my best friend, to be the boy you always were, to be my biggest fan and my biggest support.

That’s the best protection you offer. But stopping me from finishing the job? That doesn’t help me. It doesn’t help you. It doesn’t help the thousands who are getting screwed over by the person I was about to interview. 

It only stalls justice. It only makes lives worse. If I write about it, that means things can change. That means hope.” 

She sees him nod his head, feels his hands still on her back.

She leans up to kiss him, a soft kiss, not too long, not too short. She lingers a bit when she feels him return it, when she feels his lips between hers.

Still, she pulls away, lets him chase after her lips, before pushing him back up.

* * *

His eyes flutter open, and he can still taste _her_ on his lips…he can also taste salt.

 

She’s stopped crying, so it must be his tears, which he gets confirmation of when she reaches up and brushes them away with her finger. 

He kisses it before she pulls it back.

“I can do that,” he whispers, drawing circles on her back, “I can do that.”

“Promise?”

Her voice doesn’t sound angry anymore. It sounds like it’s filled with relief and a sense of understanding, and he swears on his life he’ll try to do better by her. 

Because he wants to be _that_ boyfriend…he wants to be who he was when he was her best friend, before he became The Flash, when they both believed in the impossible together, when they both chased danger together, when they held each other’s hands and ran to the most chaotic storms because they knew they always had support, they knew there was no way either of them could get hurt. 

Not when he had her. And she had him.

And sometimes he forgot, sometimes he got so scared of losing her that he couldn’t see straight anymore.

But it was her job and this was her life and he respected that.

“I promise.”

* * *

 

“I want you on my team.”

“Okay.”

And the way he says it makes her believe like they’ll rule the world together, like this was them, this was the way they’ve always been, like they were the magic in the mundane, they were the extraordinary in the ordinary.

So she asks it again, just to be sure. “Okay?” 

She sees him nod his head, sees the determination in his eyes, hears the change of heart in his voice.

“You have an interview you need to do.” 

Iris smiles at that, the first real smile she’s had since the beginning of the day. “I do.”

“I can help.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she repeats, leaning up to kiss him again.


End file.
